


AD MELIORA

by Nispedana



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, Dragons, F/M, POV Charlie Weasley, Romance, Unrequited Love, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 06:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21405667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nispedana/pseuds/Nispedana
Summary: Charlie always knew Hermione belonged with the dragons.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Charlie Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 15
Kudos: 227





	AD MELIORA

I wrote this back in 2016. I suddenly remembered due to the pleasant news of new HP books, so here I am! 

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor is the cover image mine.

...

**AD MELIORA**

BRAVE

“Charlie! Watch out!”

His body moves by instinct and barely dodges a spiked tail. He tentatively faces his partner, with bright auburn eyes filled with worry and mouth still agape from the warning she has just sent. He forces his cerulean eyes away from hers and darts back to the ebony-colored dragon in front of him. He is greeted by the sight of purple eyes resembling Amethysts—a gemstone found in Scotland, which also happens to be the dragon’s homeland.

“Freya!” He yells its name, his jaw hardening from nerves. Freya is a Hebridian Black dragon, a more aggressive breed than the Common Welsh Green, twenty years of age and one of the more frequent visitors in their sanctuary. “I mean no harm, you know that right?” He cooes, body lowered, and he eyes the dragon he _thought_ has calmed down.

But now, seeing its rough scales glistening and vibrating—a sign of its rash breathing—and the arrow-shaped spike on its tail high above the ground—to show irritability—he certainly seems to have made a miscalculation. This breed has been known for its cunning, so he wouldn’t put it past the critter to make him drop his guard.

He looks around. He already managed to put Freya in her corral, all he has to do now is to ensure she is calm enough to be left alone—and not roaming around and possibly enter another dragon’s territory with an unfriendly disposition.

With his peripheral view, he sees Hermione already with her wand out, though it’s lowered and a bit inconspicuous as raised wands tend to scream hostility to dragons riding on instinct. Their eyes meet once again, sending a silent message. They are to walk away from each other and split its attention. And as they do so, fortunately, Freya has her eyes trained on him instead of the witch.

Hermione is not even an actual dragon tamer, she is only there as an assignment for the ministry. His partner Phelly—or Black Mamba, as he’d like to call himself—got a wife who suddenly got into labor, and the job doesn’t seem that dangerous on paper. Besides, Hermione proved to be a highly capable witch, knows even more about dragons than half the trainers, and she has always expressed curiosity in the job. Also, he never really had the heart to reject any of her requests.

In any case, he leans down a little and spread his legs—a posture to show passiveness—eyes meeting the dragon’s but expression one of subtlety. He steals a glance of Hermione, though it turns to open staring as he sees her expression change from one of wariness to a confused one. Soon his own face reflects the same when the girl stands straight from her guarded body posture, face relaxed, and arms crossed across her chest. Hermione smiles and meets his eyes, eyebrows raised. She flashes him that smile that never quite failed to make the coldest winds warmer. “She’s being _playful.” _She mouths and he blinks in response.

His own body shoots straight up and looking bewildered at the dragon, and immediately he runs to it—silently casting a cushioning charm on himself—and raises his feet to give it a playful kick on the head. Freya responds by raising her head while in contact with his foot and he manages to keep his balance by kicking it up with the other and somersaulting to his back. He runs across its scales all the way to its tail which flinches and he is thrown in the air.

“_Wingardium Leviosa.” _

He blinks as he feels his weightlessness and looks down to Hermione, who is chuckling. She raises him higher as Freya tries to reach him and changes his position so when the dragon hits him with its then retracted tail, he will be able to fall down with his dignity.

And then they do it all over again.

…

They reach the camp a good half-an-hour later.

It is the largest structure within a couple hundred-kilometer radius, even if the main mass is only two floors in height. At its north’s side, however, is a panoptic tower thrice its height where—with a couple of charms—one could see the entire reserve a few hundred hectares in area.

They are met by Joey, one of the senior dragon keepers, who is then drinking coffee with the reception lady, Lanella. “You two seem flushed.” He smirks, and Charlie does not miss the suggestive movement of the man’s eyebrows. Hermione _does_, however.

“Apparently a dragon has a preference of playing whack-a-Charlie, so she’s quite helpful when we had to harvest her venom.” She says, with lilt of amusement in her voice. She then turns sideways and elbows his stomach playfully. “No one else could’ve done that.”

Joey laughs and, putting down his cup, and walks closer to where they are. “Nobody else but Charlie could be the _ball_.” He pauses. “With who?”

“Freya.”

“Freya?” he repeats incredulously, stopping his tracks. “Didn’t know she plays.”

Charlie shrugs. “She rarely does. I didn’t realize she was playing earlier, either.” He looks at Hermione. “How _did_ you know she’s playing?”

“It’s the tail.” She tells them with a shrug. “We know that it is raised when it is aggressive. But the fin is not as sharp as it should. I wouldn’t have noticed in an angle other than what I had.”

He honestly did not know that.

“I didn’t know that.” He voices out.

“That’s because it’s not even in the books.” She says. “I just inferred from everything I read and have seen so far.”

He stares at her, impressed at this always-fiery witch in front of him

He recalls her feats the past six months—the inferences and theories she has formulated, tried, and applied. He chuckles at the memories.

He remembers how everyone has warned her of this life: that half the newcomers quit within the first week. She has taken it as a challenge, instead, one that she excelled beyond anyone’s expectations—and expectations were high for the Golden Girl.

He could still remember how bright and fierce her eyes were when they told her of even the menial tasks she had to do initially—a sight that embedded itself in his memory. Heck, she even made something out of _cleaning the eggshells. _

Nobody has known that eggshells from Chinese Fireballs can be made into medicine until she has brewed one that works. It ended up becoming an alternative for the essence needed from the horns of Romanian Longhorn, saving the species from further population decline.

A month later she formulates a scent that calms dragon and makes them so serene that they can even pat their heads when they’re _nesting_.

And then he saw how she handled her very first problematic dragon—fierce, brave, _loving—_and he had immediately realized she was _meant_ for this.

He pats her head, soon sliding his hand to her cheek, and he smiles at the small blush adorning her cheek. “You know you got a knack for this.

“You should stay.” He tells her, casually, knowing her stay as a representative of the ministry wouldn’t be as long as he would’ve wanted it. “Who knows, right?” He smiles brightly at the thought.

“Maybe you belong to the dragons.”

…

“_Maybe you belong to the dragons.”_ Joey mock-repeats as soon as Hermione, who had excused herself to do some research on Swedish short-snouts, is out of earshot.

Charlie rolls his eyes, though a smirk escapes from his lips. “It’s true though.”

“The war heroine has a knack for a _lot_ of things.” Joey corrects, Charlie shrugs.

Then the stout man leans nearer to him, smirking. “_Anyway_, I hear a new mediwitch is getting stationed here, you see.”

“Yep.” Charlie vaguely remembers someone mentioning it.

“She’s pretty.”

“Okay…?”

Joey crosses his arms and stares at him with amusement. “Usually, you’d be asking for her name by now…”

“Would I?” A pause. “What’s her name, then?”

“…”

“...” Charlie furrows his eyebrows at the stockier dragon keeper. “What?”

“Precisely six months ago, you’d have been very interested in the new bird.” Joey says with a smile. “Not that any of them kept your interest. Our little war heroine’s certainly breaking a lot of records…”

Charlie frowns at this. He recalls—years ago—that the twins once implied that Hermione had a crush on him. She was fourteen, then, and he didn’t really think of her that way. Then she grew up—though they never really had the chance to bond—and he admits that time served her well, but then she dated his little brother, which certainly blocked any inappropriate thoughts, even when they had already broken up years prior.

“She’s pretty much my little sister.” He says instead, sharp tone indicating the end of the discussion.

A flash of his brother and Hermione being happy during Bill’s wedding—a good six years in the past—passes by his head and it his stomach clenches a little at it. Still, he doesn’t think much of it, and instead just looks at Joey square in the eyes. 

“What did you say that Mediwitch’s name was?”

…

BEAUTIFUL

It was a Tuesday.

Charlie finds her perched on a tree growing almost horizontally from the mountain where he now stands, much deeper into the reserve. She has her charmed binoculars glued on her eyes, mouth slightly open in fascination.

He chuckles as his deep cerulean eyes follows Hermione’s movements as she continues to watch the Hungarian Horntail roll around the mud like it’s a _dog_. Only this is _the_ most dangerous breed of dragons—which is why she’s standing far above the dragon, on a hill, a good kilometer away—so that thought is rather amusing.

He is here to give her some good news, and while he wants to watch her like this for a while, he wants to see her reaction more. “You think it’s cute, I’m guessing, poor thing.” He says, finally approaching her, gingerly walking at the horizontal trunk (and giving it a strengthening charm for good measure). When she turns to look at him, he gives her that trademark wide grin of his and she responds with fond smile. 

“Well, yes.” She admits with a shrug, eyes soon returning to the black-scaled lizard below. “Sometimes I forget this is the ferocious dragon that Harry fought in the Triwizard tournament.”

Then, as if hearing her comment, it got some mud on its nose and its gag reflex is to spit out that familiar chemical liquid, causing fire blasts in the nearby meadow.

Hermione and Charlie’s eyebrows rose and they turned their heads to look at each other, eyes sparkling with amusement. They laugh. “Told’ya it’ll be offended.”

She lets out a chuckle and he smirks, just before casting spells to put out the fire. She then looks at him afterwards, and he knows she’s asking why he is there, but doesn’t voice it out because he always appears out of nowhere, for no apparent reason.

He doesn’t take his eyes off her so that he could catch every miniscule expression she would have.

“We found him.”

.

.

Hermione’s eyes widens at the sight of the albino Ukranian Ironbelly sleeping in front of her. It is still under the sleeping spell, so he feels relaxed even as she walks to it to touch the metallic silver scales that then-covered its crimson eyes. “I wish it could see its new home…” she says, eyes betraying her melancholic mood. 

He walks over and pats her curly hair, then stops just below her chin, hand staying a moment longer than necessary. “It should still feel though, especially with its other senses heightened. It would know it is safe and it will be happy.”

She gives him a wide, wide, smile.

He had to keep his very sweaty palms in his pocket.

“Where’d you find him?” She asks, effectively pulling him back from his trance.

“North Tibet.” He says and he watches her purse her lips in wonder. She was supposed to be on that team, but two Romanian Longhorns arrived and—since the search for the Gringotts dragon had been futile this far—she opted to do the more pressing job. “Well, what’s important is that he’s here now. And I doubt dealing with our horned friends would’ve been as smooth if you weren’t here.”

Her shoulders sags a little in relaxation and he can’t help but grin—wildly scuffling her hair _just because_, which in turn makes her her cross her arms and cheeks redden in indignation. It’s a sight that, lately, makes his breath falter and his insides just a little bit warmer. “Charlie!” She squeaks, a silent _you know how unruly my hair gets!_ passing by the air between them. It does not diminish his grin and he pulls his hand away (ensuring a good bulk of hair misplaced in the process) and masking his shaken state with a shrug.

Then CRACK!—he apparates back to safety.

“_CHARLIE!_”

He incessantly chuckled to himself for a good hour after that.

No matter how unruly her hair is, she’s still easily the most beautiful woman in his eyes.

…

WARM

The next morning, he goes out straight to the reserves right after waking up. It’s Wednesday, after all, and that means Brio, the Green Common Welsh, needs to go to the mating grounds. As always, Hermione is already there before him. She’s patting the head of a younger dragon, Karl, its rough earthly brown scales against her soft palms.

“You are thinking of something profound, I assume.” Charlie says as he stands by her.

“Is it true?” She asks. “That this breed caused the Great Fire of London?” 

He blinks at the random question, before nodding slowly. “It isn’t exactly as it sounds, however.” He pauses and she looks at him, waiting for him to continue. He dramatically clears his throat, and she giggles in response. “Poachers caught a young Welsh and tried to ship it off to Russia to one of those ultra-rich Russian wizards.” This makes her smile falter. “The kid fought, ate half of his captors (pun intended), and escaped.” He really has no talent in story-telling, Charlie thinks, dramatic throat-clearing notwithstanding.

Still, Hermione nods slowly, visualizing the dire events. “The poachers were the first humans it encountered; I can only imagine what it would be like to see so many more at once.”

Charlie looks at the dragon near them. “The dragon was younger than Karl was, I believe.”

Hermione hums, before looking back at Karl with sad eyes. Charlie knows it is because the dragon had similar tragic fate—recently orphaned, with father contracting a mental disease that made it want to eat his young and succeeded. It bit its own neck until it bled to death afterwards. Karl is the only surviving offspring, mother in critical condition after suffering a similar fate. 

“What are you thinking about?”

“Some sort of irony.” She only says. “He reminds me of someone.”

…

It is exactly a day later when he finds himself bitten by Karl. (for no other reason, he suspects, than possessiveness over Hermione).

“You have intense eyes with gaze that can melt anyone it touches.” Ava, the new mediwitch, tells him as she treats his wound inside his personal space. She is a tall blonde woman who turns the head of every straight bloke in the vicinity, and also a pretty decent mediwitch from what he gathered.

Still, he is not sure how she got so close, nor how the conversation about his dragons shifted to _this_, but he only laughs in response—the pretty face of a certain wavy-haired brunette flashing in front of his eyes.

“Not everyone.”

…

Joey took his story about his encounter with Ava with a ton of amusement. “It’s been a long time man, why don’t you make a move already?”

“I just met her.”

“I meant with Hermione, stupid oaf.” Joey laughs and playfully punches his arm. “You obviously don’t have eyes for anybody else, even blonde goddesses from Ukraine.”

Charlie looks appalled at the idea, though internally electricity shot down his spine. “She was my brother’s, you know.”

“They broke up four years ago, she told me so.”

Charlie does not answer. Instead he just downs the hard liquor-of-questionable-name that is on their table. Joey does the same and continues with his talk. “You’re not nearly as smart as she is, but you’ve got good mass in that head of yours.” “Weren’t you a prefect?” 

“You’re athletic too.” He pauses, recalling all compliments he can. “Weren’t you scouted in those major league teams?”

“_And_ you’re handsome. You may only be an inch or two taller than Hermione, but you should know by now every woman (and a couple of blokes) had some sort of fantasy involving you.”

“You’re a good bloke to the Ego, Joey.”

Joey ignores the diversion and just pats his shoulder. “Like, her, you’re also a war hero.” He holds his shoulder tighter, now genuinely curious. “So what’s the problem?”

He closes his eyes upon a recollection of several fortnights prior, one night watching the skies in his rooftop, and a very curious Gryffindor. _“I didn’t think you’d end up here, Hermione Granger.” He paused and looked at her, before carefully adding. “I thought that—knowing mum and her nagging—you’d be having little Miones with Ronniekins by now.”_

_She chuckled at this and shook her head. “I’m not really the housewife-type, Charlie.” _

_“What did you see yourself becoming back then?”_

_She stared at him for a moment, before pulling her gaze away. “I always thought I’d accomplish things. And I _am_.” She just said, raising her hand up against the star-studded skies. “Just on my own.” _

Charlie knew she is not yet ready, and he says so out-loud, but Joey does not hear a thing.

“You are a _dragon_.” Joey tells him with that old-man conviction he has. Charlie honestly didn’t think he’d get this kind of pep-talk. Ever. “And you’ve always been fond of fire, Charlie—

“Didn’t think you’d shy away from it _now_.”

…

PROTECTIVE

It is nearly November and very very cold and the Peruvian Vipertooth are being particularly ornery that day. Hermione is assisting again today, because most of the keepers are abroad.

Charlie is particularly anxious about this mission, because he recalls her being a bit scared of this breed. She had read a lot and what she gathered about this breed is their rather tumulous and dangerous taste for humans, and the fact that Dragon Pox (which killed Harry’s grandparents) originated from them. 

How the transfers of three Antipodean Opaleye mothers from Australia happened _today_ of all days—

“I’m going.” Hermione says, breaking him from his thoughts.

“Are you sure?” He asks, and she nods. He had gone to her hut, for reasons he is unsure of. Is he really going to try and change her mind? Of course not. No one can change her mind if she is determined to do something. But then he looks into her eyes—fearful, but very very brave—and he knows he went there just to _be_.

“I’ll be there with you.”

...

It all happened so fast.

They had it under control, they really had. They’ve stunned almost all of the Vipers, but one. They had a few injuries—everyone had (relatively) minor injuries—but nothing overtly major. 

Holt, the remaining Viper, was one of the largest ones. Joey missed a stun and Holt attacked the area where Hermione was, then-treating the newbie who had a bloodied head and concussion. He swears his heart stopped when he saw Hermione, unable to move herself, push the other out of the way.

But she had her wand raised and recited an incantation. Gas emerged from her wand and Charlie would later realize it was a spell that _she invented_, the gas form of _amorentia._

He is already running to her when Holt fell and he couldn’t hear his own voice when the dragon’s sharp tail fell on her, still.

…

He sits down her bed, and she opens her eyes with a smile. His heart leaps and he holds her hand, something increasingly becoming more natural between the two of them. Then flashes of the terror and despair that he experienced when he thought the worst had happened made him grip her hand harder.

“C-Charlie?”

“A-Ah. Sorry.” He immediately softens his hold, clearing his throat. “Your friends back home must be worried.” “This is a very dangerous profession, after all.”

“Only Harry knows I’m here.”

Whatever she has seen on his face must’ve been bad because she quickly stiffens and stares at him in worry. “Didn’t I tell you?” She pauses. “I work for the department of Mysteries.”

Charlie knows she works for the ministry, sure, but _that_ department? “You’re an Unspeakable?” He pauses and looks at her, dire. “Should I be concerned?” 

She laughs. “Oh, no.” “This is one of those minor update missions, and I volunteered the moment it was announced.”

“You wanted to get away that much, huh?” he says it as a joke but then smiles, and Charlie could almost see the tears behind her eyes.

He suddenly understands why she’s been such a busy-body—even more so than how Ron has told her to be.

“Come here, love.” He says, casual endearment they use in the family, opening his arms. She stares at him, pondering what could’ve brought this on, and she enters his hold anyway.

…

Charlie rubs his sweaty palms against each other as he stands outside her hut. _This is it_, he tells himself. It is not even seven in the morning, but he knows this is the time she is already prepared to go to work. He knocks once, then twice, and his eyebrows furrows when there is no answer.

_Is she not home? Is she still asleep? _

He knocks a few more times for good measure, just before he raises his wand. “_Appare Vestigium” _

For a moment nothing happens, though he feels the spell working. He assumes it is because it is still going around within the house, and soon enough moving footprints appear to his side and he follows its lead.

He finds her with Norberta, the Norwegian Ridgeback—the first dragon she has ever encountered. She is cleaning his scales carefully, humming an unfamiliar song that is probably of muggle origin. He halts his steps, delaying his disruption of the peace and absorbs the sight. Ridgebacks resembles Hungarian Horntail but browner scales and not as hostile. Still, they have venomous fangs and targets large mammals, and this is something Hermione knows by heart. Still, she does not look at the danger, but the creature itself.

Typical Hermione.

And she has not even fully healed yet. She is already taking care of dragons. He would later find out that she even went first to the Viper that injured her in the first place.

He recalls the fierce maternal instinct she has with every living creature she encounters. He knew Hermione loved dragons—_she loved everything—_but the fierceness of her protectiveness still took him by surprise.

A month into her visit, they had encountered egg poachers. It had been the first time he had seen her vindictive side—no poacher had a single perfectly-working limb after her curses—a part of her that only emerges to _protect_. 

She is truly beautiful, he thinks, and he would give anything to get the right to touch her face, her hand, her hair just because he wants to, anytime he wishes. 

“Hermione.”

“Charlie!” She whispers loudly (Ha!) before placing a levitating charm on herself to slow her jump down. He catches her and she stays in his arms for longer than proper. She soon realizes the duration of their proximity, regardless how comfortable, and tries to escape his hold. He tightens his arms around her, making her tilt her head to him. “C-Charlie?”

_CRACK!_

He apparates them to the tower, then empty as work has yet to start. He lets her go then and she slowly releases herself from his hold, eyes holding his. “Why are we here Charlie?” She asks, gently, and mostly curious. He smiles and walks to the ribbon windows, looking at all the species they could see from there. “Dragons are so beautiful aren’t they? So free, strong, yet very beautiful.”

She hums in agreement, but her smile falters when he feels his gaze. He does not know how deep his stare is, but he can do it all day if it means he can watch her increasingly reddening face.

“They remind me of you.”

She blinks, and she meets his eyes—trying to figure out what he means, no doubt. He gulps. _This is it_. 

“I—W-What is it, Charlie?”

“Do I really have to spell it out, Ms. Brightest-Witch-of-her-Age?”

He watches her pink face turn to crimson and he swears his blood vessels are exploding in his ears.

He heaves in a deep, _deep_, breath as if it is courage and takes several long steps until he is in front of her. “I see you as a woman. I’ve seen you as a woman for a long, long, time.” He tells her, calloused palm gently rubbing her face. “Gestures like this—None of them are platonic.” 

She continues to stare at him, wide-eyed, and he steels himself and wills himself not to falter. He is not Charlie Weasley-the-great-Gryffindor for nothing.

“You don’t have to answer immediately.” He finally breathes out, hand then-frozen in place. “Think about it.”

Eventually, she returns to the present and she frowns and her eyebrows furrows, and his stomach drops in dread. She shakes her head of the fluster and lifts her head up, eyes bright as they always have been, and looks at him straight to the eyes. She opens her mouth to speak, but no voice came out.

“You are not ready.” He helps her out, but it tastes bitter in his mouth. He gulps. “Is it Ron?”

“…No.” She says after a pregnant pause, eyes unwavering. “That ended cleanly, four years ago.”

“Then who?”

She smiles sadly, a wistful in her orbs. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

It is then that a Swedish Short-snout glides near them—she named him Zukko—a dragon with silvery-blue scales and similarly azure fire that can turn bones to ashes in seconds. He finds her staring deeply at it, as if she is memorizing every shade of blue in its skin.

And he feels she has gone to a world he cannot reach her.

Charlie thinks that will not do.

He tightens his hold on her hand and entwines their fingers. She blinks and whips her head to face him, startled. They have always been holding hands, though his gaze and prior confession gives a whole new meaning to the act.

He raises their entwined hands and brings it to meet his lips. “Do not think of another man when I am here, Hermione.”

Tints of red adorned her face then, and Charlie didn’t think she could get more beautiful. 

…

LOYAL

“The Malfoy scion is finally getting married.”

The group are in a bar, a Friday night thing for them. It is Adrea, the resident gossip, who announced the inconsequential news. Martha, the middle-aged woman who dealt with their finances gasped, apparently having a crush (like much of the wizarding female population) on the said Pureblood heir.

After betraying Voltemort the last minute, the family (sans Lucius) had managed to keep out of prison, the wealth they still had ensuring they remain celebrities for the times to come, their good-looks no doubt ensuring the status remain, regardless of history.

_Women._

Laffy, one of the head tamers, blinks at the news. “Just now? Hadn’t he been engaged for nearly a year already?” “I thought those elite blood do things fast.”

The women look at each other and shake their head, genuinely having no idea, but Adrea raises her finger, a sign that her news is not yet complete. “They want dragons to fly over the venue the moment they complete their vows.”

He does not realize Hermione has been frozen before she breaks the silence to speak. “…was it his idea? Dr—Malfoy’s?”

“No, it was Ms. Greengrass’ idea.”

“It’s very sweet, considering his name was based on dragons.”

“Indeed.” 

The bar continues to be boisterous after that, other news and gossip discussed.

Still, Charlie would later find Hermione near the area of the Swedish short-snouts—sad eyes following Zuko wherever he went. 

…

A month before the wedding, the bride of the most expensive wedding of the decade went for a visit. She arranges and plans for their entrance thoroughly, evidently very passionate about her idea. The blonde is surprised to see Hermione there, though, but he senses no hostility despite their house affiliations.

“You must love your fiancée very much.” He hears Hermione tell the Greengrass heiress. They are having coffee at the canteen, and he just happen to be chatting with Joey and Laffy nearby. 

The blonde blushes and smiles fondly, and he sees Hermione look warmly at the other, but he can tell some of it is forced. He has not survived this long dealing with dragons not to notice the minutest changes in her face.

They chat for a while longer, but he could see Hermione’s increasingly strained and sad eyes—though he does not know what to think of it. It soon becomes physically painful for him to watch her force herself to smile. He stands up and approaches the girls. “I’m so sorry to interrupt but Hermione. The Common Welsh needs your attention.”

She stares at him, surprised, before abruptly standing up, curtly saying her goodbye to the other woman, and near-runs out the room. Charlie watches the door close before shifting his gaze to the blonde sitting in front of him.

“The dragon took a liking with her. She’s the one who can handle it best.” He explains, not exactly lying. He does not want to be impolite to their new sponsor, and he sits down across her instead. “What gave you the idea of doing this on your wedding?”

“I thought this might make him feel better.” She smiles ruefully. “He always looks far away, my fiancé. Like he’s longing for something only the sky can give.”

Charlie’s jaw stiffens, suddenly realizing a very familiar scene always happening in _this_ side of the world.

…

He finds her with the Hatchlings this time, her favourite spot that reminds her of her first encounter with dragons. He calms the wretched feelings in his gut as he approaches her, sitting beside her with as much cool as he can muster.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” He asks, thankful his voice hasn’t cracked. “Draco Malfoy.”

She doesn’t answer for a while, before nodding slowly, and they enter an awkward silence afterwards. It is Hermione who breaks it. She slightly turns her head to him, tone subtle and tired. “Aren’t you going to ask how that happened?”

Charlie almost chuckles. Almost. He turns his upper body to face her. “You have no idea how easy it is to give one’s heart to you, Hermione.” He pauses, eyes fixed on her face. “I would know that first hand.” 

Hermione meets gaze, and lets it stay even when she feels shy and awkward about it—as he can see in how all blood seems to be congregating in her head. Such a Gryffindor. Still, he huffs in some courage and forces himself to keep his smile. “What are you going to do, ‘Mione?”

She loses the blood on her face then and whips her head away, looking at her favourite egg—_their _egg, the one they risked their hides to get from a very irritable Chinese fireball. “Nothing. We wouldn’t have worked out.” She says, after a while. “It’s in the past, Charlie.”

“Yet it still pains you so.”

She looks up at him then, eyes wide and slowly lining with tears. Whatever she is feeling, Charlie thinks he feels the same way.

He leans down, placing a tender peck just at the side of her lips, almost grazing it. He does not part from her and instead he tilts his head so his lips fully meets hers. He swears his stomach jumps when heartbeats pass and she does not fight it.

_Merlin_, he thinks. The lightning that shoots down his spine every second is going to be the death of him.

He deepens the kiss, both hands on the side of her face, spreading euphoria in his body. He breathes in her essence and her scent and he feels like—for those four _glorious_ seconds—that he is floating. This is like the first time flying on a broom and on the back of the dragon, and thinks he will never get tired of this.

He could feel her leaning towards him, hand above his collar bones, but then she stops herself and pulls away. She stands up so abruptly it must’ve made her dizzy, though she doesn’t show a hint of it. “I cannot be so selfish to be asking you for comfort, not with this.”

“It’s more selfish of me to take advantage of your emotional state, woman.” He says light-heartedly, even when his insides are anything but. “Looks like a win-win situation to me.”

She laughs, almost painfully, but she shakes her head, gesturing to go out. “I’m sorry Charlie.”

But he holds her hand before she escapes to the door. He will not force himself on her, but he will not let her run away from this. Not from him.

“Stay.”

“But—“

“Please.”

She purses her lips in nervousness before her bright auburn orbs finally meets his. _She’s so beautiful_, he thinks. How he wishes she is _his_.

And they sit there as they have earlier, his hand entwining with hers and she does not take it away. It is awkward, at first, but then the clock begins to tick and they breathe as if they have been holding their breaths.

And soon the awkward air is gone, as if a wall is broken.

…

The next morning, Charlie and a few others are having coffee in the lounge when Matilda, the head Dragon keeper, went down from her office to approach them. Charlie stares at the old woman, thinking she will be further discuss a plan for the Malfoy-Greengrass wedding. Even when the day prior it had been arranged that he, Joey, and Laffy will be flying the three dragons Astoria asked for, he muses Matilda wants the wedding the be beyond perfect—seeing that the Greengrass paid thrice the initially promised monetary sponsorship for the three dragons.

Matilda is frowning deeply, however, even massaging her temples. She’s troubled, Charlie stands up to approach the older woman and pats her shoulder. “What’s wrong, Matilda?”

It is then that Laffy opens the door wildly, face flushed as if he ran there. “You know my sister works for the daily bungle right?” He huffs and raises his arms. “BIG NEWS!”

Charlie’s heart stops at what came after.

“The Greengrass-Malfoy wedding is _cancelled!_”

_CRACK!_

Their backs straighten in alertness and they stand simultaneously, knowing there is portkey arrival somewhere near them. Charlie closes his eyes to feel where the crack of magic has been and heads to the lounge. His eyes widens at what he sees.

Draco Malfoy, frantically looking around, long pace hurried with anxiety. He was wearing wild, desperate, eyes that he would never have imagined on him, not ever. 

Matilda, who is there first along with him, approaches their guest. “Mister Malf—“

“Where is she?” Malfoy voices out. “WHERE IS SHE?”

Matilda only stares, evidently as shocked as he is, not knowing what to do with such intense amount of panic so early in the day and so far from their own dragons. “Where is Hermione?”

Laffy and the others arrive soon after. “Oi, It’s Draco Malfoy! In the flesh!”

The younger man ignores them and looks around, eyes eventually ending up on him, probably due to the color of his hair. “A Weasley?” He voices out, though Charlie could hear a silent _I should’ve known_ afterwards.

“Where’s Hermione?” He repeats and Charlie crosses his arms, defensively. They are oblivious to the shocked and confused stares that is surrounding them at that moment.

“What makes you think she’s here?”

“Astoria… Astoria told me that she saw h-her, and I—“ He straightens his back and breathes in, suddenly calmer now that he has seen a familiar face. “Where is she?”

Charlie can picture the Greengrass’s face filled with love for the Malfoy scion, and how she must’ve casually mentioned seeing Hermione here—not knowing what it would entail.

He wasn’t going to let him hurt Hermione again, let alone _two_ good women.

But he stops himself from saying anymore and looks around him. Any one of them would take him to Hermione. His jaw clenches and he looks at Malfoy. “Let’s talk somewhere else.” He says and he apparates both of them to his hut, ensuring a _muffliato_ is in place, just in case. This does not pass the sharp gray eyes of his rival, however.

“Where is she?”

“Must’ve been the hundredth time you asked that.”

“I will ask a thousand more.”

He narrows his eyes, and the other does the same. The only thing missing in this atmosphere is held-out wands, ready to strike a _stupefy_ at the kindest. “Let me guess, your _fiancée_ happily mentions she saw a war heroine in Romania. Then you break off the engagement?”

Malfoy stiffens. “It is an arranged marriage. There is no love involved. My family will compensate hers well.”

“This is _not_ about the money! And you know the Greengrass felt for you!” Malfoy does not answer, and Charlie knows he has been aware of it all along.

“What _are _you trying to do here?” He asks, voice raising, but he wills himself to act composed. “Hermione is happy _here_, with us.” With _me. _

He sees the other’s eyes twitch at this, but soon he could feel the blonde’s posture soften, calmer, as if hearing _Hermione _and _Happy_ in the same sentence is enough to soothe his anxiety. “Then let me talk to her and confirm that for myself.”

This surprises him a bit, but in the end his eyebrows furrow and, fist clenched, he whips his head to stare at him. A lump forms in his throat, and Charlie dislikes feeling like this. “You left her once,” He says, pausing, not bothering to hide the venom in his tone. “Who’s to say you’re not going to leave again?”

But then the blonde _scoffs_—almost laughing—and this made his blood rise up in annoyance. But then the blonde’s voice cracks and Charlie is honestly lost for words. “_I _left her?” Malfoy asks him, tone rising, and Charlie knows he is not imagining the tears lining behind the blonde’s sharp eyes.

“**_She_**’s the one who disappeared!”

**…**

Charlie tells him where to find her, and he does not know what to make of his own decision. He shows him the way himself, in fact.

She is in the Western Forest, gathering Guenden mushrooms for a potion she has been trying out. Neither of them had spoken at first, both intent on just watching her. She is covered in muck, dirt, and sweat and they are mesmerized. She was picking up the mushrooms four meters above the ground, but the fire in her eyes—something she wears when impassioned—is there, and they are intoxicated.

She sees she has company and she jumps down, casting a spell to soften her fall.

And now he is staring at Hermione completely oblivious to his presence and wide eyes fixed on the man beside him.

He walks farther from them to give them a bit of privacy, but he keeps himself close without their knowledge in case Malfoy tries something.

“Hermione…”

He is well several meters away from them, but he can feel the tension seek into his flesh. She is silent for a long moment, before managing to speak, albeit tone steely. “What are you doing here, Draco?”

He hears her voice crack and his insides does the same.

“Because you are here.”

“Draco—“ 

“I know that my mother was dying—I couldn’t—“

He hears her sigh, though rather than exasperation Charlie can tell this one’s to calm her nerves. “Draco…”

“I _know_ you did it for me. You are always that kind of woman. You didn’t want to destroy my relationship to the only family I had left, especially when you lost your own.”

Charlie hears the shaky tone morph into a determined one. “But I realize this is the rest of _my_—_our—_lives and I want you in it.“ He hears steps, and he knows the Malfoy scion is very very close to Hermione. He can feel the electricity between them from where he stands.

“Please. Come back to me, Hermione.”

Charlie does not need to stay to know what her answer is.

Silence pass by the air around them and Charlie turns to look one last time.

_“Merlin, I missed you.” _Malfoy says, leaning down to Hermione, but she does not tear away. Not from _him_.

_CRACK!_

Back in his room, Charlie flops down to his bed, arm raises to cover his eyes in an attempt to control the sting.

Still, he smiles, despite feeling his heart being torn to pieces. He has seen how Malfoy looks at her, how he _inhales _her entire being into his soul, and how she feels the same way.

He knows he is no match. 

.

.

Charlie always did know Hermione belonged with the dragons.

Apparently, it just wasn’t _him_.

**.**

**.**

**END! **

…

THANK YOU FOR READING!

_Whatever you thought_—negative, positive, etc—**please write them below**!  
I appreciate feeling your presences so much.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
I would appreciate it so if you don't leave me without so much as a comment! :)  
Any of your thoughts would do!


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